Oh, To Feel Again
by AlmostAngel.333
Summary: That scream shattered his world - everything he knew fell to pieces around him. And maybe, just maybe, this was right - maybe, just maybe, he could feel again. Oneshot.


From the first scream, the world began to crumble around him.

That's all it could be, he thought. This was it and this was the end and there was nothing he could do to stop the world from falling to pieces. Every brick he'd so carefully moartered, every mask he'd so carefully painted, every lie he'd ever told - everything shattered with that scream. From the first scream that left her lips, he forgot everything that he was supposed to be.

His limbs were frozen, and he was cold, so cold.

It wasn't supposed to be like this - he wasn't supposed to _feel_. He was supposed to be heartless and cruel and empty. Not broken and lonely and torn and sad - no, he was supposed to be _nothing_. Be nothing and feel nothing. But his wide, blue eyes - the same mercury eyes that lied to the world - betrayed that he was not what he was supposed to be. A betrayal that could end everything, but what could he do? The dim manor seemed so dark now - everything was dark. Was he alone? No, no, he couldn't be - the werewolf, those filthy snatchers, his father, his mother, that crazy bitch of an aunt - they were there, they had to be. Besides, _she_ was still screaming and whimpering and sobbing. But it all felt empty and dark and lonely.

And, suddenly, Draco could hear the sound of his own heart breaking.

She cried his name. And that was it - just his name. Just his name and desperate, shrieking, tortured sobs. Just his own name to break that ice cold heart that had long ago stopped beating in his chest. His resolve fell to pieces on the floor, mixing in with the shards of ice from his broken heart.

So Draco Malfoy began to cry, too. Because he was the only help she had, and her brown eyes were pleading with him from across the room as his aunt laughed again and again. Because she still trusted him. Because she believed he could do the impossible, because she still believed he wasn't a monster, because she made him feel again.

Because Hermione Granger brought him back to what he was never supposed to be, but could never stop being.

The tears fell silently from his eyes, as he stared at the girl before him. Bellatrix twisted her wand again, and the girl screamed - such a heart wrenching, animalistic scream - and Draco was somewhere else. Draco was in a room he was never supposed to be in, with a girl he was never supposed to be with, laughing and smiling like he was never supposed to. Draco was in a tower, just like he'd been told never to be, alone with a girl that he was always supposed to hate, kissing her and feeling like he never should have. Draco was holding Hermione Granger and falling in love like he never, ever should have been able to, because he should feel nothing but hate.

Maybe it was the memories. Maybe it was the feelings. Maybe it was both. But Draco whispered a word that would change everything, the tears in his voice making it such a desperate plea.

"Stop."

But it was too soft - no one heard it over the screams and the manic laughter. He was too weak, he thought - he was a just a boy sobbing desperately at the mirror again, because he wasn't strong enough to do what he had to. He was disgusted with himself. But he began to feel it. Draco felt it building up in him, felt what had been building up in him for years, at its peak now. For the first time in a long time, Draco felt dangerous.

"_Stop_."

This was no plea. This was a command from a young man who had reached his rope's end. Even if it was his own noose, it could not be ignored. Bellatrix stopped abruptly, her head turning towards Draco in a way that should have made him shudder. But he'd never done what he should have, had he?

"What did you say?" Her sickly sweet voice paused between every word, her head cocked to the side like some terrible, crazy beast. "Son, don't," his father whispered from his side, so desperate. But he was done - done with his father, done with this. Every eye was on him as he spoke again, his voice even and clear from tears, even if his eyes weren't.

"I said _stop_. _Torturing_. _Her_."

Hermione was still crying, but she heard him. It was her eyes on him that kept him invincible, because her eyes were now so full of hope, and Draco was in the spotlight now. Draco was her hero, even if he could never be anyone else's. And that was all that mattered, Draco thought.

Bellatrix had every fiber of her attention now focused on Draco, and she advanced on him one step. He did not move. Another step. Still, he did not retreat. "Boy, I don't... think... you want to do that." Oh, but he did.

"I think I do."

Her strike was as quick as a snake's, but Draco was quicker, and Draco was silent. His wand arm flew from his side, and a bright flash of red caught Bellatix mid word - the beginning of a killing curse for her own nephew, no doubt - and no one was quite sure what had happened, not even Draco. The magic that had come from the young man was not a bridled, practiced spell - it had been raw magic, raw magic from an angry wizard. His aunt was lifeless, crumpled against the towering marble wall of the hall. He did not know if she was breathing, but he didn't particularly care.

Draco's attention turned to his audience. His father's wand was out, but he'd made no move to do anything - his mother was just staring at her son, no longer sure she knew who, exactly, he was.

"If you make one move to touch me, or her, I'll kill you," Draco warned evenly, locking eyes with his father. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the words he spoke were truth. "If anyone moves," he directed his attention to the stunned snatchers, altough he doubted that those cowardly bastards were going anywhere, if he were to judge by the terrified looks on their faces, "they are dead."

There was no question of who was in control in the room. Just as he turned his back on the onlookers and knelt beside Hermione, though, another voice broke the stunned silence and sniffles of the room.

"Mate, we're going to have to move," the voice said, it's speaker stepping wearily out of the shadows that crept down towards the dungeons. Harry Potter stepped forward, his eyes locked on Draco's, the Weasley King and that house elf somewhere behind him. Draco's stomach contracted in contemp, but as he looked at the green eyes of his long time enemy, the knot in his stomach loosened. Potter had seen the whole thing, Draco thought in relief. Potter knew what side Draco had chosen, and something in The Boy Who Lived's eyes believed him. He felt the madness and power that had controlled him in the past few minutes slip away and he gently picked Hermione up, cradling her in his arms.

She was so bruised, and her blood was now smeared onto his hands, but she was breathing. Her warm brown eyes fluttered opened, and bored directly into Draco's. "I knew it," she whispered weakly, with a pitiful, yet strong, small smile crossing her face. She faded into unconsciousness, and he was left trying to hide his tears.

"You're coming with us, Draco."

Harry's statement was no suggestion, and it nearly crushed any doubts that Draco may have had. All he could do was nod. He was so confused, so lost in this turmoil of _feelings_, but he knew one thing for sure. This was _right_. This was where he was supposed to be.

That's what he was thinking as he struggled to stand with the girl he loved in his arms. When he stumbled, it was Ronald's hand that clasped his shoulder. Although the red head did not look at him, and although Draco knew it would take years to erase their history, this was an agreement. They were on the same side now.

He looked into his mother's eyes as they all grabbed one another, holding onto the house elf. She understood, Draco thought. Her nod was the last thing he saw before the flash of light and pulling at his stomach.

He landed on his feet on a bright, happy looking coast. He hoped, as Harry and Ron led the way to the little bungalow, the house elf - Dobby, that was his name - skipping happily alongside them, that this was a sign. Maybe he could have a happy, bright future. Not just yet. But soon. He looked down at the unconcious girl in his arms, and a tired smile lit his face.

Yeah, maybe he could.

* * *

**Alright, so this wasn't my best. But it wasn't my worst! :) I think it was kind of rushed...it went a little to fast. It's the first thing I've posted in a while, I know. I saw the last movie in theaters, and I remembered the book, and I started thinking 'what if'... and here we are! I made sure to save Dobby, too. :) Let me know if it was horrible, or good, or whatever. I didn't really edit it, so please, feel free to point out anything that needs fixing. :)**

**-Paris-**


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